


The Hero of Tamriel

by DaedricOblivion



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 17:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16309454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaedricOblivion/pseuds/DaedricOblivion
Summary: Indigo Vex, a reporter for the Black Horse Courier seeks out information on the hero of Cyrodil and tales of the hero's journey. What will he find? Read to find out! :)





	The Hero of Tamriel

“Frostfall, coldest month of the damn year so far!” I growled under my breath as I ushered my horse onward through the ice and snow. “At least it’s not long until I reach Bravil.” I longed for the warmth of a fire, a tankard of mead, and hopefully a woman to warm my bed for the night. As I shivered, and prayed to Talos that I would arrive safely to town in this god awful blizzard, I was knocked off my horse. Dazed and Irritated, I searched to find what had displaced me from my mount. I looked up to see a signpost slightly crooked from the impact of my skull being bashed against it. I scraped the snow and ice blanketing the sign. It read “The Lonely Suitor Lodge”. I laughed in the irony of the situation. In the back of my mind, something nagged at me, then it had hit me. “Where did that bloody animal go?!” I searched for my horse frantically, it was a pack horse, and it had carried my journals and reports that I had been writing for the last few months. I ran blindly down the road, I tripped on a pile of snow. I had wondered why the snow in this area was so tall compared to the snow settled around the pile. I started to investigate, it didn’t take long to discover what lay beneath… It was my horse, succumbed to the frost. “A damn shame. A Cheydinhal black wasn’t it?” I heard from behind me in a gruff voice. Turning to see who it was, “That she was. A fine steed. She served me well all these years… It’s a shame the frost did her in.” My eyes began to focus on the shape now in front of me. It was a Breton man with hair and a beard like fire, eyes like steel, and a stance of a knight, “I own the stables around here, and I’ve never been able to breed a horse as fine as yours. But a horse isn’t as pleasing as a woman and a bellyful of mead on a cold night like this! Care to join me to the inn for some drink?” Humored by the man, I grabbed my belongings from my horse and walked alongside him towards the inn. I asked with whimsical curiosity, “Sure friend, but might I ask your name?” I asked as we walked. “The name’s Asher. That’s all ya need to call me. And yourself?” He pushed the large doors of the tavern with ease. He turned his head to me, I simply smiled as I said “My name is Indigo Vex, I write for the black horse courier. I’m planning to visit all of the cities for my new story.” As soon as I had finished my sentence, Asher had grabbed my shoulders. His face looked a mixture of emotions, nervousness and happiness were the most notable. “You’re the one who cracked the Avidius corruption scandal! Lad, you’re a hero!” Embarrassed, and nervous from the attention of the inn occupants, I quickly motioned for him to have a drink with me. With childlike wonder and excitement, Asher asked what my new story was about, and if he could help me write it. “Actually, yes you can help me.” His eyes lit up like torches. “The story I’m working on is about the hero of Cyrodiil. I got the idea from the statue in the center of the Imperial City. I’m interested in learning more about him.” Asher’s eyes filled with tears. He removed the gloves he had been wearing to reveal his deformed, burn scarred hands. Shocked, I managed to ask him, “What happened to you?!” He replied with a sorrowful tone, “I was a soldier in Kvatch. When the Oblivion gate opened, we were ordered to hold back any of the daedric monstrosities we encountered until our captain could close the gate.” In engrossed terror, I opened my journal and hastily jotted down his story with my quill as I pressed him to continue with his story. Sheathing his hands in the brown, rough, worn leather gloves, he subsided his tears and reminisced on about his time in Kvatch. “We were being shredded left and right by hordes Dremora, Clannfear, and Daedroths. As our numbers diminished, morale was running low, and fear was running rampant. A dremora knocked me to the ground, I thought I was done for. I closed my eyes and waited for the end. Then I heard it scream. I opened my eyes to find a white Khajiit with black stripes in black leather armor standing in front of me like a Paladin of the 9 divines, sent to protect me. His ebony sword ran through the dremora. It was still screaming, impaled upon his blade and with a twist of his wrist, the dremora lay on the ground in front of me. Completely Lifeless. As soon as the body hit the ground, the daedric monstrosities stopped, and turned their attention to the Khajiit. I yelled for him to run. I told him not to die for our sakes. He turned his head to me and smiled. Just then it seemed all the forces of oblivion rallied against him, as if determined to slay him for their fallen comrade. A daedroth, larger than the others present, rushed towards the Khajiit with an unholy bloodlust. I was terrified at what he was able to do to the reptilian behemoth. He cleaved it cleanly in half, and decapitated the other 2 daedroths with a single blade stroke. He calmly asked if I was able to stand. Unable to speak, I nodded. He once again smiled with a Cheshire grin, and told me that he had secured the cathedral as a refuge for citizens and injured soldiers. A pack of Clannfear were swiftly darting tword us. ‘If you won’t flee, stand and fight or you will die here.’ He quickly sheathed his sword, and grabbed the bow resting on his back. He drew arrow after arrow from his quiver with skill and finesse, each arrow hit its mark. Shaking, he told me to protect the Cathedral, and to not let anything past me. The remaining soldiers and I obeyed his order. He ran like a man possessed into the oblivion gate. Time passed, the monsters, fewer and fewer appearing from the gate. We were exhausted, but we had to keep fighting or the citizens would die. We would die. As the last dremora fell, the ground quaked, the oblivion gate contorted and shook. Out of the gate ran the Khajiit, carrying our commander on his shoulders. Just as they came through, the oblivion gate shut. The ground quaked once more, the Khajiit shouted for us to find cover. The gate shook even more violently, the gate combusted, the force knocking the Khajiit to the ground. In a panic, our group of soldiers rushed to the Khajiit, helping him to his feet and calling the town apothecary to tend to our wounded commander. We were in complete awe of this man. We called him the hero of Kvatch. In gratitude and wonder of our mysterious savior, we asked for his name. With a weary, reassuring grin, he said ‘My name is J’skar.’” With a harrowing first person account of the hero that kept me on the edge of my seat. I was overjoyed to finally have his name! J’skar, the hero of Kvatch, and the hero of Cyrodiil! This story is going to be a page turner, I may have the bestselling book in the works! Asher, turned to me with a calm in his face and said “I owe that cat my life. If you ever find him, tell him that the flame bearded soldier from Kvatch would like to have a drink with him and to thank him.” My joy turned to intrigue. I looked at Asher with a puzzled look, “But the hero of Cyrodiil is dead! Unless the dead talk, your thanks will have to wait until Sovngarde.” His emotionless expression turned to a smile as he took a drink of his mead and said, “A man like that dead? You believe what he wants you to believe.” His words rang in my mind like an echo, or at least the hangover did. The next morning was a rude awakening indeed. I was extremely ill and stayed in my room most of the day. Every moment I had alone to myself to think. I asked myself “why would J’skar fake his death? He was a hero, why would he want everyone to believe he was dead?” Tomorrow the blizzard was to die down, so I thought it best to get some rest. Early that morning, I had purchased a horse from Asher and his stable hand for 200 gold, the price was fair and so was the weather. I loaded my new horse with my belongings and headed for Skingrad, another city the hero had aided in a time of crisis.


End file.
